Hellmouth
by BG-57
Summary: An tortured orderly meets a melancholy patient and a mysterious puzzle box in her possession. He risks everything to save her soul from those who would claim it. But can he withstand the forces of darkness? Some violence and gore, big surprise there.
1. Lethe

Hellmouth

A _Hellraiser_ Fanfiction

By BG-57

Chapter 1

"Ward B, code twenty-one."

A man looked up from his solitaire game and sighed. His ginger hair was in a crew cut and he wore dark green scrubs. The room he sat in was nondescript, with windowless gray cinderblock walls. A row of lockers sat across the far walls while there were a few tables and chairs scattered across the concrete floor. He rose and crossed through a metal door that was propped open.

"Hey Tom, you're up," he called out.

Beyond the door was a dark courtyard that was open to the skies, where a torrent of rain was pouring down. A single scraggly gray tree grew in the center of the muddy rectangle of earth. In the darkness, he could make out a single smoldering point of orange light. A silhouette of a man was sitting on a picnic table under the overhang of the roof, smoking a cigarette.

"Yo Tom, you deaf?" tried the man a second time. The shadow stirred to life and came into the light. Even in power blue scrubs, Thomas Rathburn looked like a feral rat. He had long greasy black hair that almost hid his beady brown eyes and a pencil moustache decorated his upper lip. He was tall and thin, with sharp cheekbones that looked like they had been chiseled from stone.

"I heard you," said Tom in a soft raspy voice.

"It's a code twenty-one," explained the man as Tom passed him into the break room.

"Suicide watch," muttered Tom as he stabbed out his cigarette in an ashtray that sat on a stand next to the door, "Thanks Steven."

"Anytime," said Steve, who shook his head sadly as he watched Tom leave.

Tom walked down the mostly deserted corridors painted a peculiar shade of lime green, illuminated by fluorescent lighting. He crossed past the entrance to the cafeteria, where a janitor peered up at him suspiciously from mopping the floor. The light in a nearby snack machine began to flicker ominously. Tom paused and watched the light fade in and out and then return to normal. He reached into his pocket and dropped a few coins into the slot and pushed a button. A spiral wire spun, dropping a candy bar into a dispensing slot.

A sign overhead read 'Ward B' as he crossed past the elevators to the nurse's station. A kindly middle aged woman with glasses was manning the desk, talking on the phone. She held up a finger and finished her conversation.

"Oh good," she said as she hung up the phone, "It's room sixteen."

"Room sixteen," echoed Tom distantly, "I'm on my way."

He walked down the dimmed corridor to find the last room on the right. An orderly stood from a chair that was halfway in the corridor.

"There you are Tom," said the orderly, "You sure took your time."

"Sorry Michael," said Tom quietly as he peered past him into the room, "What have we got?"

"Burn trauma, she tried to slit her wrists when she first came to," explained Mike, "She's heavily sedated." Tom nodded thoughtfully.

The room beyond had two beds separated by a curtain mounted to the ceiling, but the bed by the window was empty. The second bed had what appeared to be a young woman. What was visible of her face was dark, with black hair. The rest was swathed in bandages that concealed one eye and her forehead. Her upper chest was also covered, and two smaller bandages were wrapped around her wrists. An intravenous bag hung by a nearby stand, connected to the crook of her left elbow by a fine needle taped down. Under the faint hiss of an oxygen mask her slow steady breathing indicated drug induced slumber.

"I've got it covered," he said after a long pause.

"Want anything from the cafeteria before I go?" offered Mike. Tom took the candy bar from his shirt pocket and held it up. Mike chuckled and walked down the corridor, his footsteps slowly fading.

Tom walked into the room and noticed a shiny black purse resting on a small end table, next to a telephone and a glass of water. He pumped some hand sanitizer from wall-mounted dispenser and rubbed his hands together vigorously. He pulled on a pair of disposable plastic gloves and picked up the purse. A few moments of rummaging through the purse and he found a billfold. He pulled out the driver's license and held it up to the light in the hallway. The woman's name was Amanda Black, but it was her picture that caused him to gasp faintly. Despite the bad lighting at the registry she was clearly a lovely woman with emerald green eyes and her hair brushed back behind her ears, with twin golden hoop earrings. He had seen her face before, but it was impossible that this could be the same….

"Uhh," murmured the woman in her sleep. Feeling guilty for snooping, Tom gingerly returned her picture to the purse. It was then that something caught his eye.

Sitting in the purse was a box.

It looked like a Chinese puzzle box, with delicate brass designs etched into the six faces. Almost hypnotized, he picked it up in his hands. It was lighter than he expected; it must be hollow, he thought. Turning it over, he noticed that each pair of opposite faces had identical designs. Two sides were painted black with brass sunbursts radiating sixteen rays to the corners. The other faces were natural wood grain, another two of which had diamonds pinned by four quarter circles from the corners. The last faces had single dots surround by eight others merged into borders around the rim. Even through the gloves it strangely felt both warm and cold to the touch at the same time.

Tom set the box down on the table and crossed to the door and shut it. He then reached to his belt and flipped open a cell phone. Using the built in camera he focused the image of the box in the viewfinder. He covered Amy's free eye with a gloved hand as he snapped a flash photograph in the darkness. He then turned the box over and took a second picture. Once he got pictures of three of the sides, he carefully replaced the box back into the purse, then pulled off his gloves and threw them into the nearby trash. He knew from experience that the Doctor would be pleased with his handiwork; and Tom didn't want to disappoint him.

The rain slacked off around three in the morning and by five-thirty, cold light began to faintly seep in through the shuttered window. Tom unwrapped the candy bar and began munching.

"What…are you…eating?" Tom froze, stopped in mid-chew and glanced over to the bed. The woman's eye was open and regarding him groggily. He quickly swallowed and crossed over to her.

"Are you in any pain?" he asked, "I can get the nurse to bring some more morphine."

"What…are you eating?" she repeated. Self-consciously, he glanced down at the candy still in his grasp.

"It's got chocolate and nuts," he explained, "Do you want some?" She nodded faintly and he broke off a piece. After lifting up her oxygen mask he held it close to her lips. Amy chewed on it feebly, feeling vaguely like an infant. The thought infuriated her.

"Are you an angel or devil?" she asked weakly.

"Devil," replied Tom gravely. He bore no illusions about his sins.

"So I'm in Hell?" asked Amy as a tear gathered in the corner of her eye. Tom shook his head.

"You're still alive Miss Black," he explained, "You are badly hurt though." She help up right arm and inspected the bandage and name bracelet on her wrist. The memories of the fire and the cutting scissors came flooding back into her.

"Oh God," she prayed as her body began to convulse with sobs, "Why didn't I die?"

"Miss Black, please calm down," said Tom and he took her hand, "You'll be fine."

"How would you know, you freak?" she screamed as she pulled her hand away, "There are worse things than death!" Stung, Tom stood there paralyzed for a moment before hitting the page button on the wall.

"Room sixteen, code fifty-five," he intoned. A minute later the nurse arrived with a syringe.

"Why can't you let me die?" demanded Amy angrily, "They'll come after me!"

Tom held Amy's left arm steady as the nurse injected a sedative into the intravenous port. Within a minute Amy began to drift off again.

"The box," she muttered, "They want…."

"Are you okay?" asked the nurse as she placed a hand on Tom's shoulder. He shook his head slowly and slumped back into the chair.

A few hours later Tom stood in an office in a different wing of the hospital. It had crimson carpeting and a large oak desk in the middle of the room with a green blotter and desk lamp. A nameplate set prominently on the desk said _Karl Wentworth M.D._ in raised gilded lettering. Bookcases lined two of the opposite walls filled with medical books, while a computer stood in an alcove by the far wall. A printer underneath was finishing its job and a man retrieved the printout and placed in on the desk.

The man behind the desk was in his fifties, with his gray hair slicked back. He wore a dark suit and red tie underneath the lab coat and a stethoscope was draped around his neck. The gold cufflinks and tie pin attested to his obvious prosperity. Doctor Wentworth put on a pair of bifocals and stared at the three pictures of the box on the same printout.

"Mm, very interesting," he murmured in a well-modulated voice, "Where did you see this again?"

"Amanda Black," said Tom eagerly, "Ward B, room sixteen."

"The one with burn trauma?" he ventured glancing up with icy blue eyes. Tom nodded.

"Anything else?" asked the Doctor, picking up something from his troubled expression.

"She said someone was after her," stated Tom finally.

"You did a good thing Thomas," explained Wentworth soothingly, "You are helping others just as I have helped you." He knew how Tom hated rummaging through the patients' belongings, but he needed someone to do it for him.

"I can't save them all," he replied in quiet despair.

"That is not within our power," stated the Doctor, "We can only assist them as best we can."

"Yes Doctor," said Tom automatically.

"I'll look into this matter for you," said Wentworth brightly, "I feel this may be the key for helping Amanda." Tom nodded, feeling a little better.

"Thank you," he said gratefully.

"Fine, now go get some sleep," said the Doctor, "I'll fill you in on my progress."

He walked out of the office and down the hall to the elevators. The car took him down to a sub-basement that was ill-lit and the walls and ceiling lined with white insulated pipes out of which steam hissed at some of the junctions. He walked down to the far end past the sounds of rumbling machinery and unlocked a metal door and slid it open. The room was used for storing boxes, but in one corner he had set up a makeshift bed using some mattresses piled onto a pallet. He pulled off his shirt, exposing a thin bony body. A tattoo of a leering demon with its mouth wide open and flames pouring out decorated his upper left arm. He opened a small box by the wall and pulled out a votive candle and a wrinkled photograph. He lit the candle with his cigarette lighter and placed in on top of a dusty table, with the picture propped up next to it. The young girl with the sad smile looked about twelve. It could have been a childhood photograph of Amanda Black, except this girl had died ten years earlier.

"Forgive me Martha," he said as he lay on the bed and closed his eyes.

Half a day later, Michael the orderly was sitting in room sixteen working on a crossword when a shadow fell over him. He looked up and nearly jumped.

"Tom!" he gasped, "You nearly scared me half to death!"

"Sorry about that," said Tom, now dressed in green scrubs.

"You're ten minutes early," said Mike getting up, "Something wrong?" Tom shook his head.

"Go home early," he suggested. Mike smiled faintly.

"Sure thing," he said, "Oh, and she's been real quiet today."

"Good," said Tom taking the chair, "Has the Doctor been to see her?"

"Wentworth came by a couple of hours ago," explained Mike, "He said she won't need a sedative if we keep the wrist restraints on her."

After Mike left Tom looked over to Amy, who looked the same, except what looked like padded handcuffs that bound her wrists loosely to the bed railings. A canula tube under her nose had replaced the oxygen mask and she looked fast asleep.

"Please don't die," he said earnestly. Her eye opened and she fixed him with a gaze. He was too mortified for words; had she heard him?

"I'm sorry Tom," she said simply, "You're not a freak." He blinked back surprise.

"How did you…?" he began.

"I can read," she replied with a faint smirk, nodding to his nametag.

"I…I am a freak though," he managed to stammer. She sighed and shook her head.

"I wasn't mad at you," she said finally looking at the ceiling, "I was really angrier at myself."

"Oh," he replied uncertainly. After a few minutes of silence she spoke again.

"I'm glad I saw you again Tom," she said, "I felt bad about what I said." Tom waved his hand.

"Don't worry about it," he said evenly.

"I can be a real bitch sometimes," she added frowning slightly, "Say what kind of tattoo is that?" He followed her gaze down to his arm. He pulled up the sleeve to expose the whole tattoo.

"It's a Hellmouth," he explained, "The entrance to Hell."

"Do you believe in Hell?" she whispered.

"Yes," he said gravely, "I may go there one day."

"Or sooner," she added darkly.

"What do you mean?" he inquired.

"Does this hospital have a furnace?" she asked evasively.

"Yes," he replied, looking lost.

"Go over to my purse and look inside," she instructed, pointing with one of her restrained hands. Reluctantly he walked over to her purse and opened it up.

"What am I looking for?" he asked.

"A puzzle box," she said. Tom pulled out the box and saw it for a second time. In his bare hands it felt like it was both there and not there.

"Do you want it?" he asked holding it out to her. She paled and began to shudder. He instantly regretted asking and set the box down.

"Just burn it," she said, "They'll be coming for it."

"Who are they?" he asked.

"You said you believe in Hell, Tom," said Amy, "This will take you there." A cold sweat broke out on Tom's forehead.

"Really?" he asked in amazement, "They want your soul?" Amy nodded in grief.

"Promise me you'll destroy it," she begged.

"I-I promise," he said. Thomas decided that he would bring the box to Doctor Wentworth. Maybe with his help he could save Amanda's soul from damnation.


	2. Styx

Chapter 2

Doctor Wentworth eyed the puzzle box with the appraising eye of a jeweler as he turned it over in his hands. Tom stood a respectful distance on the other side of the ornate oaken desk.

"Have you ever heard of Philippe LeMarchand?" the Doctor asked abruptly.

"No Doctor," said Tom blankly.

"I doubt you know much about seventeenth century toy makers Tom," explained Wentworth with an indulgent grin, "This was his masterpiece." He set the box on the blotter, where Tom stared at it, half expecting it start moving on its own.

"What is it?" he asked after a long pause.

"Nobody knows for sure," said Wentworth, "But the Lament Configuration has passed through many hands over the centuries."

"So this box has blood on it?" whispered Tom, somehow knowing instinctively that it had. Countless people must have killed and died for its secrets. He could almost hear the cries of the damned through the wooden sides. "Maybe we should destroy it, as she wished," he ventured, trying to ignore the gnawing fear in the pit of his stomach.

"If the stories are true, then it's impossible to destroy," said Wentworth sympathetically, "Do you really believe it can really summon demons though?" Tom nodded slowly.

"I've already been to Hell," he explained quietly, "One that I made myself."

"I doubt opening the box is such a good idea then," said the Doctor dryly, handing it back to Thomas, "But I'll leave that choice with you." Tom fidgeted with the Lament Configuration nervously as he tried to work up the courage to ask a question.

"Doctor, why did you save me?" he asked finally, "Was my life really worth it?"

"I was just doing my job," said Wentworth with mild annoyance, "And yours is to save the souls of others." Tom bowed his head, feeling guilty for entertaining such doubts.

"Forgive me," he said folding his hands on the desktop.

"Don't be silly Tom," said Wentworth patting his hand consolingly, "Now, I'm counting on you."

Later Tom went down to his basement room and lay on the mattress, idling fiddling with the puzzle box. He turned it this way and that, looking for a seam or hinge. Frowning, he couldn't find one; that LeMarchand guy must have been a devilishly clever man. Finally he noticed that the sunburst had a raised rim. He ran a fingernail into the box and traced a circle around the edge. He almost had it….

"Room sixteen," intoned Mike's voice on the intercom, "code fifty-five."

Tom threw the box on to the table next to the photograph of Martha and started to run. Too impatient for the elevator, he ran up the emergency stairwell, taking two steps at a time. The fluorescent lights on the stairwell dimmed briefly then snapped back on. He wondered if the generator was on the blink again as he pulled open the door and ran down the hallway, nearly knocking one of the nurses over.

"Hey!" she barked angrily. He ignored her and raced down to the end of the corridor and into room sixteen. Mike and the middle-aged nurse were struggling to hold Amanda still as she writhed in bed, screaming.

"They're going to get me!" she yelled before coughing violently. Tom brushed past Mike and put a hand on Amy's shoulder.

"Miss Black, listen to me!" he exclaimed, "You were just having a bad dream!" It took her a moment to focus on him and recognize his voice.

"Tom?" she rasped, "Am I…?"

"You're safe," he said quickly, "I burnt the box." Her relief was overwhelming as tears streamed out of her eye.

"Oh, thank God," she said as she slumped back down into the bed.

"She'll be fine now Mrs. Mills," said Thomas to the nurse.

"Wait, what did you burn?" wondered Mike.

"Just a memento," replied Tom. He noticed as the adrenaline was wearing off how truly frightened he was. He started to release Amy, when she seized his arm with a manacled hand.

"Don't leave me!" she begged.

"I won't," he said reassuringly, "Michael, why don't I take over?"

"Sure," said Mike after taking a deep breath, "I could use a break." He inclined his head to the door and Nurse Mills followed him out of the room. Tom pulled a chair over with his free hand and sat next to her bed. In the silence the only sounds he could hear was the drip of the IV and the faint hissing of oxygen.

"I can't stand it," muttered Amy eventually, "I hate being so weak."

"You're stronger than you think Miss Black," stated Tom hopefully. She glanced up at him and squeezed his hand gently. She almost feared his hand would break, as if he was made of porcelain.

"That's sweet of you to say Tom," she countered, "But you're still wrong." He began to chuckle hollowly.

"Maybe I am," he replied, "But I still have faith in you." Amanda frowned at that.

"How can you?" she asked, looking a little peeved, "You don't even know me."

"I knew her," he said with a distant, nostalgic look, "She would be your age now."

"Who is she?" she inquired.

"Martha Winterburg," he explained nodding over to the bed by the window, "You could have been twins." Amy half sat up and followed his gaze.

"She was in this room?" she wondered.

"Ten years ago," he added, "Right after I started working at Saint Matthias."

"And she died, right," said Amy, finishing his thought for him. He merely shrugged.

"I'm not so sure now," he said with a faint smile, "I'll introduce you to her tonight, if you feel up to it." Amanda nodded, with a growing sense of dread. She wasn't so much scared of Tom as scared for him. His spirit seemed to have crumbled until almost nothing was left.

"Let me help you Tom," she said thinking fast, "My way of saying thanks."

"That's not necessary Miss Black," he said hastily, "Your getting better is all the thanks I need."

"Get my billfold out of my purse," she said releasing his hand. He reached in and pulled out a leather wallet, which she unsnapped and pulled out a small card, which she held out to him.

"What's this?" he asked looking down at the card. It had a street address written on it in an elegant cursive.

"Write this down: two, four, one, five, five" she said, "Look in the front hall closet."

"For what?" he asked, still looking lost. But he took a pen from his shirt pocket and scribbled down the numbers.

"The safe," she said simply, "Help yourself."

"You want me to rob your house?" he sputtered, looking aghast. She laughed quietly as she gestured him to come closer. He leaned over her to hear better and she planted a kiss on his cheek. He backed away into the wall, blushing.

"You know, you'd be cuter if you lost the moustache," she said with an impish smirk.

Later on Tom was sitting alone at the back of a bus, making its way along a late afternoon thoroughfare. He was now dressed in a hooded sweatshirt and blue jeans, a ratty green canvas backpack by his side. The only other passenger was an elderly woman who glared at him warily. When he crossed to the front of the bus to get off, he noticed she clutched her purse closer to her side. He stepped down to the sidewalk and idly touched his cheek with a hand. The bus took off and he walked down a side street.

The street number wasn't necessary since there was only one house that had burned. It was halfway up a tree-lined street, surrounded by yellow and black tape cordoning the area off. The house was a two story brick, with the roof completely gone, the timbers sticking out like ribs in a corpse. Half the windows were broken, the paint peeled away by the heat. He walked up the driveway to the backyard and put on a pair of gloves. He didn't need to pick the back door lock, since it was already unlocked. He walked into a kitchen, covered with soot, the wallpaper half gone, the furniture smashed. He crossed into the front staircase and pulled open the closet. The safe was tucked in the corner, under a pile of singed clothing. He was surprised to find several men's suits and jackets among the women's shoes and overcoats. A set of five pins were mounted in a circle on the front. Within seconds he had the safe open.

Inside were several bundles of hundred dollar bills, a handgun with an ammunition clip and several plastic bags. Each one contained hundreds of pills in different colors, like so much candy. Scanning the brand names, Tom quickly realized that they were all prescription medicines that were commonly used at the hospital. He unzipped his backpack and stuffed the contents of the safe into the bag.

As he turned to leave he noticed a framed picture on the wall. Amanda was in a black dress sitting on a man's lap, both of them smiling to the camera, with his arm around her waist. He was middle aged and good looking, with brown hair and green eyes. Tom guessed from his grey suit that he was a businessman of some sort. With a sinking feeling he knew this was the man Amanda had loved. Of course, a woman like her could have any man she wanted. Well, he decided that was all right, she still needed his help. It was unfair for him to get his hopes up like this.

The next picture over sat in a cracked glass frame and looked like an artist's rendering of the puzzle box. Frozen in his tracks, Tom peered intently at the details. They matched perfectly, the wooden sides, the brass etchings. Sweat broke out across Tom's brow as he pondered the significance of that. Had Amanda collected the Lament Configuration deliberately? Or had this man tricked her?

Amanda was counting the minutes down to midnight. As soon as Tom came in, she knew that she had been right. With his moustache now gone, his face looked softer, less feral. He had also combed his hair back away from his eyes, accentuating his high cheekbones.

"Wow, I didn't recognize you for a minute," she said with a smile. He scratched his head awkwardly.

"Thank you Miss Black," he stammered, "I did what you asked." He placed the bills into her locker by the wall.

"Wait, I said you could have the money," she said. He shook his head as he helped her up into a sitting position.

"I would only misuse it," he said sadly.

"How many years have you been clean?" she asked knowingly.

"Ten and half-," he began before abruptly stopping, "I mean Doctor Wentworth helped me to get better."

"I'm sorry to pry Tom," she said sadly, "But I can read people pretty well."

"What do you think of the Doctor?" asked Tom, suddenly curious.

"Sorry, but I don't trust him," she replied coolly.

"Well, he can help you," said Thomas, "But it takes time to build up trust." She nodded slowly.

"You said I could meet Martha tonight," she ventured.

"See the tree?" he asked, gesturing out the window. Amy glanced over and saw the thin and scraggly grey braches.

"Martha loved that tree," he explained, "I often found her talking to it."

"Can you take me to it?" she asked. He nodded and pulled a wheelchair in from the hallway. He then undid her wrist restraints and helped her sit up. Tenderly, he picked her up and sat her in the chair. Despite that she gasped in pain and coughed heavily. He then switched her canula to a portable oxygen tank attached to the back of the wheelchair.

"Are you ready?" he asked eventually.

"Are you kidding?" she asked, "I thought I'd never leave this room!" He wheeled her out in the hall past the nurses' station. Nurse Mills glanced at him questioningly.

"Doctor Wentworth approved," he stated, "She needs to be more active."

"Well don't overdo it," she cautioned.

Tom wheeled Amy out of Ward B past the elevators and cafeteria. He then turned around a corner down a side aisle. Several gurneys were lined up against one wall and several windowless doors on the other side. He unlocked one unlabeled door and propped it open. Amy felt a cool night breeze on her face as she looked into the muddy courtyard. But the tree in the middle looked sad and twisted. Only a weathered picnic table kept it company.

"What a poor tree," she murmured.

"Martha felt the same," he said, "That the tree was just like her." Tom pushed the wheelchair into the courtyard so she was in the middle. She reached out and put a hand on the rough bark. Glancing up, she saw something glinting in the darkness. Tom pulled a heart shaped locket from one of the lower branches and pressed it into her palm.

"This was hers?" she asked snapping it open. A lock of black hair rested inside, along with a picture of a little girl. It looked just like her seventh grade yearbook photograph.

"I'll give it back to you," he said quietly. She gasped and looked up at him fearfully.

"I-I can't keep this Tom," she said. He smiled in a strange and distant way and returned the locket to the branch.

"I couldn't save her Miss Black," he said wistfully, "But maybe I can save you." She shook her head violently.

"I don't want some Galahad to come riding to my rescue," she said miserably, "I made this mess myself."

"You wanted the box?" asked Tom, thinking of the picture.

"Tony gave it me for my birthday," she began her eyes widening in horror, "He was torn to pieces!"

"I'm sorry," said Tom.

"He was a louse," she added almost casually, "But nobody deserves to die like that!"

"I didn't mean to upset you," he added.

"I'm such a coward," she said hanging her head and looking down at her bandaged writs.

"They wouldn't be able to reach you?" he asked. She nodded meekly as tears streamed down her face.

"I'll take you back now Miss Black," he said. Within minutes they were back in room sixteen, where he helped her back into bed. As he was reattaching her oxygen supply she asked a question.

"What did you do with the gun and the pills?" she inquired.

"I incinerated the drugs and disposed of the gun," he averred, "Nothing can implicate you now."

"If you were smart, you'd blackmail me," she said coyly.

"If I wanted money, I would've taken it already," he retorted firmly.

"You're a strange guy Tom," she wondered aloud, "You're decent in all the wrong ways." He walked over and carefully reattached her wrist restraints.

"Miss Black, you are more right than you'll ever know," he said taking her hand, "Thank you for everything."

"Call me Amy please," she said longingly. He pulled his hand free and headed for the door.

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

"I will free you," he said with a creepy smile. She was too stunned for words as he left the room. He stopped at the nurse's station for a moment.

"Mrs. Mills, I need to get something," he explained, "I'll be back soon."

"Okay Tom," she answered, "Don't be long."

Tom took the elevator down to the basement and retrieved the backpack from his pallet, along with the candle and picture. He then went to the break room and out into the courtyard. Lighting the votive candle, he placed it carefully at the base of the tree along with the picture of Martha. He then pulled out the Lament Configuration and began turning it in his hands, pushing in one of the smaller circles with his thumb. A wedge-shaped section lifted up and out before retracting again. Then the every other sunray lifted out with wooden slats connected to each, twisted an eighth of a turn and settled in so that it now looked more diamond shape than cubical. Swirling winds blew into his face and he saw dark clouds gathering in the nighttime sky. A crack split up one of the courtyard walls and rumbled open, revealing bright cold blue light. A second crack opened up behind him. Both led to long twisting arched dark corridors. Grimly determined, Thomas pulled the gun out of the backpack and stuck it into his waistband. Then he pulled the locket from the branch and pocketed it.

"Take me you bastards," he muttered, "You'll find my soul a lot more appetizing."

Far above through a second story window, Karl Wentworth watched Tom enter one of the tunnels and disappear from view. This had worked out even better than he had originally planned, he thought.

"Give 'em hell Tom," he said with a self-satisfied chuckle.


	3. Phlegathon

Chapter 3

After ten minutes Thomas knew he was lost. The dark corridors ran into frequent intersections at odd angles, with a labyrinthine layout. The walls were made of cold stone, with a curved roof supported by pillars at regular intervals. He was surprised; he always pictured Hell as being hot, full of fire and brimstone. Finally he reached a door, a large oaken affair with a brass door knocker. With a shock, he recognized it as the front door of Amanda's house. Tentatively, he pushed the door open.

The hallway inside was the same as he had remembered it. A long staircase led up to the second floor, with the railings gone. The white wallpaper was cracked and peeled, exposing the singed woodwork slats. He crossed over into the kitchen and found the ruined table and furniture, the plastic coffeemaker twisted and warped into an abstract sculpture.

The only difference was the corpse.

It had once been a man, now horrifically burnt into little more than a charred skeleton that sat in a chair at the table. Its skeletal hands rested on the tabletop, a gold watch decorating one wrist. What was left of the suit was grey flannel; it was the same suit as the man in the picture.

"Tony," said Tom, his voice quivering, as he drew out the pistol and began searching the room. From the hair rising on the back of his neck, he could tell that they were nearby….

"Hey, that's my gun," said a raspy charnel voice. Tom turned to see the corpse staring at him with piercing green eyes. Tom screamed and backed into the stove, knocking several pots and pans onto the floor.

"I'm s-sorry," he stammered hysterically.

"How'd you get it?" demanded the corpse frowning.

"Miss Black gave me the c-combination," he replied nervously, wondering how he could be holding a conversation with a corpse. Of course, he realized: this was Hell.

"Amy made it?" inquired Tony casually. When Tom merely nodded, he let out a deep sigh. "Got a light?" he inquired. Thomas took a pack of cigarettes from his backpack and held it out.

"Thanks, kid," he muttered as Tom lit the cigarette for him. He took a deep drag and the smoke drifted from his charred lips and between the ribs in his chest.

"Should you be smoking?" wondered Tom, feeling insanely foolish for asking.

"You really miss cigarettes here," stated Tony as he indicated a chair, "Have a seat." Tom slowly sat in a ruined chair and placed the pistol and backpack on the tabletop.

"She's in Saint Matthias hospital," explained Thomas hopefully, "I came here to offer my soul for hers."

"You're crazy," rasped Tony incredulously, "You have any idea what it's like here?"

"Some," replied Tom as he rolled up a sleeve, exposing the tattoo and faint needle marks on the inside of his elbow.

"I deal only with prescription drugs," sniffed Tony as he narrowed his eyes at Tom warily, "Not that ghetto shit."

"I'm not here to judge you," said Tom somberly, "I came to save Miss Black." Tony took another long drag on the cigarette before replying.

"You like her, huh?" he murmured, "So what did that whore promise you?"

"Don't call her names…," began Thomas defensively. Before he could finish Tony had reached across the table and grabbed the pistol.

"Don't mess with me, pal!" he screamed in a terrible voice as he raised the gun, "She should be here instead of me!"

"I-I…," said Tom raising his hands.

"She opened the box, not me!" he bellowed, "That bitch deserves to burn!"

"But you gave it to her…," said Thomas.

"Karl wanted the box to be tested," said Tony coldly.

"Karl…Wentworth?" whispered Tom, "Oh God."

Back in room sixteen, a cold eerie light woke Amy up. She looked over to the window and saw the scraggly grey tree lit up from behind by a strange blue light.

"Tom, what have you done?" she breathed. With difficulty she managed to pull herself into a sitting position. She paused for a breath and then swiveled her legs over the side of the bed. Gasping, she pulled the wheelchair over. Amy then climbed into the chair. She was fumbling with the oxygen tube when Wentworth strolled in.

"Amanda, what are you doing?" he inquired in a gently chiding voice, like he had caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. She took a deep breath before responding.

"Tom is in danger," she explained, "There's this puzzle box…." She stopped, knowing she'd sound like a raving lunatic. To her amazement, the Doctor walked over to the wall and unplugged her oxygen, reattaching the canula to the tank on the wheelchair.

"I know about the box," stated Wentworth calmly, "Tom told me all about it." He began wheeling her out of room sixteen down the hallway.

"Do you believe that it opens a door to Hell?" she wondered. Behind her, she could hear the doctor chuckle softly.

"Oh, I believe that Tom believes it," he replied, "And that will put him in terrible danger." They stopped at the unattended nurse's station, noticing the silence for the first time. They seemed to be the only ones on this floor. Wentworth wheeled her to the elevator and pressed the button. At least the elevator still worked. Within minutes they were in the courtyard. Amanda reached down to the base of the tree and picked up the photograph next to the votive candle.

"Martha," she murmured, "Was she your patient?"

"Yes, but the operation wasn't successful," he said sadly, "Tom took it especially hard."

"You're the one who hired him?" said Amy, mentally putting the pieces together. Wentworth knelt next to her, placing an arm on her wheelchair.

"He was in bad shape when they brought him in the E.R.," he said candidly, "Honestly I was surprised he lived."

"Why would you want him to work here?" she asked, frowning. Something didn't add up.

"I'm shocked at your prejudice Amanda," said Wentworth with a grunt as he stood up, "Everyone is entitled to make a few mistakes." He positioned the wheelchair so it was facing one of the dark corridors.

"Let's hurry," she urged. It was then they heard the distant sounds of gunshots reverberating through the hallways.

Thomas had managed to stumble out of the kitchen into the front hall. He clutched his shoulder as blood dribbled on to the wallpaper. He reached the door when another shot rang out hitting the oak an inch from his cheek. Tom spun and slumped against the door. Tony emerged at the far end and swiped some of the blood from the wall and tasted it.

"We don't want to spill too much," he said leisurely.

"What do you want?" gasped Tom.

"I want to live, you little junkie freak," he replied in casual spite, "Your blood will help me."

"What are you going to do to her?" Tom demanded.

"I'm going to drag her ass into Hell," he said as he raised the pistol in a skeletal hand. The whole house around them began to shift and creak. Harsh light filtered in between the slats of the walls and the floorboards.

"No!" screamed Tony in anguish as he prepared to fire. A hooked chain shot of the wall and impaled his gun arm, pulling it to the side as a shot harmlessly hit the ceiling. A second chain hit his other arm pulling him spread eagled off the ground.

"It's not fair!" he roared as dozen of chains from all direction pieced what was left of his flesh. Then they pulled taught, pulling him into pieces. The gun spun across the floor, rebounding off of Tom's shoe, a skeletal hand still wrapped around the grip. He felt bile rise in his throat as he tried not to vomit.

Shadowy figure appeared in the doorways. A man in a long black overcoat stood in front of the dining room, his bald head devoid of any facial features, only stretched smooth skin where the eyes and mouth would have been. A long bladed sickle was held in a gloved hand.

A hunched figure with metal spikes protruding from his neck, shoulders, and arms stood in the kitchen door. Black leather partially covered his body, leaving ghastly white flesh exposed, which was covered in blood red welts. It snarled its sharp crooked teeth at him.

"What a pity," said a reverberating voice, "He never understood his own limitations."

Tom looked up to see a magnificent figure standing at the top of the stairs; his pale white face and head crisscrossed with geometric rows of pins. He wore dark clothing, with two vertical leather strips piercing through his chest and a long trailing cape starting at the waist. Tom could sense cold commanding imperiousness in his gaze, like an exiled king.

"You have summoned us," he said narrowing his black eyes, "And we came."

Tom nodded and pulled out the Lament Configuration. The Lead Cenobite seemed to glide down the stairs and he reached out to the puzzle box. Small bolts of electricity arced out of his fingertips and the box reconfigured itself as a long thin needle-like pyramid. Thomas nearly dropped it on the floor in shock.

"I…I opened the box," said Tom fearfully, "Because I want to make a trade." By now the Faceless and Spiked Cenobites has joined with their master in hovering menacingly over him.

"What sort of trade?" asked the Leader with air of mild irritation.

"The soul of Amanda Black for my own," proposed Thomas, "Take me in her place." The Spiked Cenobite began to chortle cruelly.

"And why should we agree to this?" demanded the Lead Cenobite with dry amusement, "We can still take Amanda and you as well." Tom realized he hadn't thought this through; still, he had to try.

"If you want a soul to torture," he stated, "You will find my suffering far more exquisite." The Faceless Cenobite picked him up and threw him up against the door, drawing out the sickle. He began to dig the tip of the blade into Tom's shoulder wound. He howled in frenzied agony as the Leader listened appreciatively, like an audiophile listening to a concert.

"Enough," commanded the Lead Cenobite, "Yes, you have potential."

"So…you'll…accept?" said Tom between pants for breath.

"We will consider your offer," he clarified, "Provided you bring another soul."

"Another?" gulped Tom, "Who?"

"The one who truly desires this box," he explained. Tom felt a chill run through his body.

"Doctor Wentworth!" he exclaimed, "You want me to bring him here?"

"You already have," said the Lead Cenobite with cold amusement. Then they seemed to melt away into the dark shadows of the ruined house. Tom slowly stood up, still gasping for breath as he clutched at his shoulder. With his free hand he retrieved the gun and headed out the front door.

The outside corridor was enormous and completely different from the one that was there before. It towered overhead into a cavernous ceiling as he walked down and noticed a room ahead that looked equally vast. He found himself in a large circular room, like a coliseum, with a curved dome overhead. A single oculus in the center let the only light filter down. Tom heard a faint sound like a distant foghorn as he saw a sweeping beam of darkness briefly block out the light. The stone floor was inlaid with intricate circular and square metallic patterns as he made his way to the center of the room.

"The Shadow of Leviathan!" shouted a voice. Tom whirled around and saw Doctor Wentworth and Amanda at the far end of the room.

"Tom!" cried Amy, "You're hurt!" He ran over to them and knelt in front of her. She embraced him tightly, aggravating his wound. Amy looked apologetic when she saw him grimacing. She unwound some her own bandages and wrapped his shoulder wound with it.

"Miss Black, I'm sorry," he said sorrowfully, "My soul is not enough."

"You idiot," she replied touching his cheek with a hand, "Who said you should try?"

"They want your soul as well," he said glancing up to Wentworth, "In exchange for Miss Black's." The Doctor arched an eyebrow.

"Not much of a bargain," he responded gravely, "But you should keep your part."

"Don't listen to him!" pleaded Amy, "We'll all get out of here and find another way!"

"They'll pursue you forever if I don't," he said taking her hand, "And I don't want the Doctor to be sacrificed as well."

"Well said my boy," said Wentworth, "Now go to the center of the room."

"What will happen?" asked Tom as he stood. Amy refused to release her grip on his hand.

"Leviathan will devour your soul," stated the Doctor clinically, "It is eternally hungry."

"How do you know so much about it?" demanded Amy.

"No time for questions my dear," said Wentworth holding up a gun at her. Tom felt at his waist and realized Tony's gun was gone. The Doctor had managed to take it from him without noticing, along with the Lament Configuration.

"Don't kill her!" demanded Tom indignantly, "Please!"

"Don't worry Tom," she said defiantly, "He won't."

"Would you like her to call my bluff, Tom?" he asked, faintly amused.

"No, please!" said Tom holding up his hands in surrender, "I'll go."

"Tom!" said Amy with a strangled cry. He smiled reassuringly to her as he walked into the center of the coliseum. Thomas stepped into the circle of light then took a deep breath before looking up. Another black beam of light swept through and enshrouded him in darkness.

He looked down at a vision of a man strapped down to a gurney shrieking in pain. The man looked wasted and thin, with long ratty hair and a week's worth of stubble. In numbing horror, he recognized himself as that man raving and foaming at the mouth as doctors tried to restrain him. He saw the specter of his past knock one of the nurses away before Wentworth injected him with a sedative.

A split second later he had a vision of himself standing in a rain swept courtyard, staring at a ragged grey tree. A small sickly girl was in his arms, wrapped up in several blankets. She was smiling up at him, a locket clutched in her grasp. Slowly she pressed it into his palm as she whispered something about this being their special meeting place.

The scene shifted again and he found himself hunched over an empty bed, his body convulsing with sobs. Doctor Wentworth had a comforting hand on his shoulder. He couldn't live without her, but he had to go on, to make meaning of the suffering.

To make meaning of the suffering….

With a jolt he found himself back in the light. He rubbery legs gave way and he slumped to the ground. It felt like some obscene entrance exam. Vaguely he wondered if he had passed the test.

"Tom, are you alright?" yelled Amy. He looked up at her longingly as he heard a distant rumble. Twin circular pillars rose from the ground a foot on either side of him. They spun with surprising grace as they glided upwards, like corkscrews. When they finally came to a rest, he could see a hole though each one, about six feet up. Thomas slowly got to his feet and pulled out Martha's locket. He looked at the picture and then up to Amanda.

"Don't look," he said softly. He raised his arms and stuck them through the holes. Spikes drove into both his wrists and the floor dropped from under him, so he was supporting his weight by just his arms. He howled in torment as blades sliced into his sides and shoulders. The locket fell from his grip onto the cold marble floor. The pillars began to sink back into the ground, and Thomas Rathburn slowly receded from view, although it took much longer for his screams to fade away. Amy watched in terror, covering her mouth with both hands to stop from screaming. Wentworth crossed over to the wheelchair and swiveled her around. She began sobbing as he wheeled her down a corridor. Poor child, thought the Doctor, she didn't understand the gift that had been given.


	4. Archeron

Chapter 4

Amanda had lapsed into an eerie silence by the time Wentworth wheeled her back into the courtyard. The tree looked as sad and forlorn as ever. Wentworth parked her wheelchair under the scraggly branches and bent over to lift up the footrests. As he did, she drew up her leg and with all her strength kneed him in the groin. He gasped and staggered back as she began raking at his face with her fingernails.

"Argh!" He yelped almost petulantly, "Stop that!"

"You bastard!" she shrieked, "He's dead and you're responsible!" Wentworth reached over, blocking her blows with a free hand, and unplugged her oxygen tank. Within moments her flame-scarred lungs struggled to get enough air to breathe. She began hacking and coughing.

"I…kill you," she wheezed.

"Don't make me recant my Hippocratic oath, my dear," sneered Wentworth icily as he wiped the blood from his face with a pocket handkerchief, "Thomas has only just begun to serve his true purpose."

"But…those _things_…," protested Amy before a fit of coughing stopped her.

"Cenobites," he lectured as he gingerly plugged her oxygen tube back in, "I knew the moment I saw Tom in the emergency room that he was the soul I was looking for."

"For what?" she wondered. Despite her rage, she was genuinely curious what this madman was planning.

"He's the bait that Leviathan couldn't resist," he said triumphantly, "And when I return he will become my Trojan horse."

"But…why?" she asked. Wentworth gave her an apologetic smile.

"Having power over the lives of my patients no longer satisfies me," he said, "I want dominion over the souls of mankind." Secretly he was pleased that he had someone to confide in, someone who would understand.

"How-?" she began before he cut her off.

"Leviathan consumes the souls under its control," he explained, "It responds to desire, and his desire is truly a wonder to behold." Her puzzled look brought the smile back to his face.

"You still don't understand, do you," he said with a sigh, "I chose you to become his desire." It took her a moment to put the pieces together.

"You were Tony's supplier," she began finding the breathing a little easier, "You gave him the box, knowing what would happen."

"Well, I had hopes that Tony would come through," said the Doctor regretfully, "But alas he was unworthy."

"And then when they brought me here, you knew that Tom…," she breathed, "…oh my God."

"Exactly my dear," said Wentworth beaming, "He would do anything to save your soul."

"Because it would be like saving Martha," she muttered, "I'm so sorry Tom."

"You played the part of the _femme fatale_ perfectly," he added, "And now you are free to return to your miserable petty life." Wentworth pulled her out of the chair, making her gasp in pain as he set her down on the grass at the foot of the tree. He then detached the oxygen tank and laid it across her lap. He then folded the chair up and pushed it away.

"I'm going to kill you, asshole," she swore darkly. Wentworth just laughed.

"Don't waste your oxygen my dear; there's not much left," he said with a mock bow, "And now farewell." He rolled the wheelchair in front of him as he returned into the passageway.

Amanda lay under the tree, lost in thought. She couldn't understand why Doctor Wentworth had taken the chair with him. To prevent her from following him of course, but why would he care? Then it hit her: he was afraid of her; afraid of her influence on Tom. Every nerve of her being screamed at her to rethink her course of action, to just walk away. She could leave and forget this all happened. That's what Tom wanted her to do….

"To hell with that!" she snarled as she woozily got to her feet. Amy wanted payback for all the men that had used her: Tony, Wentworth, and all those other losers she had let herself get involved with. She would save Tom, somehow.

She staggered down the hallway, using the walls as support. All the passageways seem to go on endlessly twisting through subterranean levels. Finally she reached an intersection. Feeling lost, she wondered which way to go. A metal object glinted in the darkness. She gingerly picked it up and almost shrieked when she recognized the designs on its curved surface.

It was the Lament Configuration.

She felt a chill through her soul as she heard the faint rattle of chains around her. Almost panicking she looked up and saw she was now in a room full of chains dangling from the low ceiling, like a torture chamber; which it was. The Spiked Cenobite stood hunched over in the shadows nearby gnashing its teeth violently at her. She felt cold metal against her throat and saw the Faceless Cenobite holding up a sickle threateningly.

"Ah, Amanda, what a joy it is to see you," said the Leader stepping from between several chains, "I am interested in why you have come."

"Don't you still want my soul?" she gasped.

"Nothing would please me more," said the Lead Cenobite narrowing his eyes, "But your soul is already paid for."

"You mean you've accepted their souls for mine?" she asked, her mind racing. He gave a faint nod to the Faceless Cenobite, who lowered his weapon.

"You soul still belongs to us," he added, "But we will delay in collecting for now."

"Then maybe I can help you," she said quickly, "Wentworth is planning to take over."

"I would welcome a challenge," said the Leader sardonically, "But he is no match for us." He turned to go and Amanda spoke again, stopping him in his tracks.

"Maybe not, but what about Tom?" she asked, "Do you know what Leviathan is turning him into?"

"And what do you truly understand of Hell and suffering?" he demanded irately.

"Not much, but the enemy of my enemy is my friend," she said with an odd smile. Strange that she liked the Cenobites better than Wentworth. At least they were honest.

"Now it becomes clear," he stated, "You want us to spare Tom."

"Please," she begged.

"If he gives us his loyalty," said the Lead Cenobite, "I will consider it."

"And if he doesn't?" she wondered.

"Go now," he commanded as they vanished into the shadows, leaving her alone. Slowly she made her way back to intersection, still clutching at the Lament Configuration. Slowly she turned it over in her hands and dislodged a side. She managed to twist the corners and reconfigure it into a cube. Far away she heard distant shrieks and the faint blasts of Leviathan's song. In the distance the opening to the hospital courtyard slowly rumbled shut. She knew now that she would never leave. Turning around she walked into walkway.

Far below she saw the endless corridors of a labyrinth with passageways opening over bottomless pits. Suspended in the air far overhead was a pyramidal metal monstrosity that slowly rotated, sweeping the area with black beams of light, like a lighthouse of doom. It was the monstrosity Leviathan. She knew now what she had to do. Angrily she ripped the canula off her face and threw it, oxygen canister and all, into the pit. As she fell to her knees she spread her arms open wide, waiting.

"Take me," she wheezed, "Give me the power to destroy him." The black beam struck her square and she felt enveloped in wave after waves of memories.

She saw a woman in a bar smoking and sharing drinks with a handsome young man. As they laughed and chatted she recognized herself and Tony. But behind him in a corner she saw Wentworth nursing a shot glass of whiskey, watching them intently.

A moment later she saw Tony handing her a birthday present wrapped in a bow. She saw herself laughing and unwrapping the box. As she solved the cube she watched numbly as chains burst forth, impaling Tony. She saw in horror as the Cenobites appeared and tore him apart. She the candles on the table fall over and the rug caught on fire, then the curtains….

Again she was watching herself emerging from the drug-induced stupor in the hospital. She saw herself pull over a pair of scissors near a pile of dressing and methodically slice across her wrist. The blood trickled down, the life oozing out of her.

With a shock, she found herself back in the present. She lay on the ground, panting heavily. Slowly two low walls raised on either side of her, like a narrow coffin. Half a dozen tubes with needlelike nozzles snaked out of either side. With almost relief she sighed as they pierced in between her ribs. Finally she could breathe easy.

The coliseum was enshrouded in darkness, and then a faint shaft of light pieced the gloom. The twin pillars began to rise again, a figure in black armor dangling between them. What had once been Thomas Rathburn had ghastly white skin, the exposed joints of his body covered in scars and long pieces of metal impaling his elbows and abdomen. His head was a mass of muscle and tendons with the only skin stretched out like a mask over the bones, showing the familiar facial features. The Wounded Knight simply remained suspended with his eyes tightly closed as Wentworth stepped out of the gloom.

"You are truly beautiful Tom," he said lovingly, "And you have finally saved her."

"Martha…?" croaked the Knight in a guttural voice.

"I left her by the tree," he said, "She will be fine."

"There you are Doctor," said the Leader, "Still plan on denying your fate?"

"Of course," said Wentworth leisurely, "You can have my soul if you dare."

"Your suffering will echo through eternity!" sneered the Lead Cenobite coldly.

"Tom, if you love me," said the Doctor, "If you love her, you must fight"

The spikes withdrew from his wrists and the Wounded Knight fell to his knees in pain. Finally, he was getting what he deserved. He slowly got to his feet as they heard the faint flapping of loathsome leathery wings. He opened his eyes and looked surprised as a pair of bat wings descended from above. They separated as each grasped a shoulder of the Knight with a vicious claw. Black ichors spilled out of the shoulder wounds as the Knight withdrew the metal shards from his elbows. Then he pulled the long blades free from his abdomen, forming a crude pair of swords.

The Spiked Cenobite charged him, knocking him off balance, but he roared as twin blade pierced his chest. The wings began to flap as the Knight withdrew the swords as he rose into the air. The Spiked Cenobite collapsed onto the floor as the Faceless Cenobite slashed at the Knight with his sickle. Another fresh wound opened up as the Wounded Knight flew up and out of sight. The Faceless Cenobite whirled this way and that, trying to anticipate its opponent. But the Knight unexpectedly dropped from above, carrying him up into the air. There was a sickening wet crunching sound as the legs of the Faceless Cenobite crashed to the ground to the left of the Lead Cenobite, followed a moment later by the head and torso on the right. The Leader glared up at the flying horror and a set of chains burst forth from the walls. The Knight barely managed to deflect the chains, cutting the hooks away before they could impale him.

"Impressive," said the Leader appraisingly, "But futile."

With another faint nod he sent the chains careening at Wentworth. The Wounded Knight flew in the way and was impaled on two chains. Another two chains pierced his wings and spread him out like part of an obscene butterfly collection.

"No!" cried Wentworth in despair. Thirty years of meticulous planning was wasted in an instant.

"Now you will feel an eternity of suffering!" stated the leader with a glint of satisfaction.

"Wait!"

They turned to see a rectangular sarcophagus emerge from the ground, the lid sliding open. From the depths emerged a female Cenobite, with black skintight suit covering her chest and abdomen, her arms and legs encased in matching gloves and boots. Her hairless white head had a series of hooks dangling from short chains in a fringe, giving her the appearance of a demonic medusa. Her Amanda-like lips curved into a faint smile as she drew out twin daggers.

"I want to thank you Doctor," she said in a breathy, slight raspy voice, "I didn't even realize what I was missing." Petrified, Wentworth noticed the tubes that ran out of her throat and ribcage, hissing faintly.

"A-Amanda," he managed to stammer.

"Oh no," she said wagging a dagger in the air like a disapproving finger, "I'm Martha, remember?" Wentworth only gradually realized that his bladder had released.

"Martha…" croaked the Wounded Knight.

"You must choose," said the Leader to the Knight, "You cannot serve two masters." The chains withdrew and the Knight hovered in the air again.

"Tom, please...," begged Wentworth, "You were born to help me."

"Come to me," she said simply.

The Knight flew over to the Medusoid. Taking her hand, he knelt before her. The Doctor tried to make a break for it. A flash of steel buzzed through the air and Wentworth fell over, a dagger stuck into his knee. Crying out in pain, he tried to pull the blade free. He knew he was feeling shock and he had to fight the effects. The Medusoid ambled leisurely over and pulled it out.

"Ow!" he screamed, "You bitch!"

"No, you're my bitch," she said casually, "Aren't you pleased with your handiwork?"

"Don't kill me," he said grasping at her feet, groveling.

"I won't," she stated, "You belong to him."

They stood to one side as the Lead Cenobite stepped forward.

"No!" screamed Wentworth, "God, please no!"

"Not God," said the Leader, "But close enough."

The chains burst forth and hit their mark. As they pulled apart again some blood hit the Medusoid on the face. She wiped it off and licked it off her hand, feeling pleasure in such cruelty. Had these feelings always lurked underneath? It didn't matter anymore. She gasped slightly as she felt cold metal on her throat. She looked down to see a locket draped around her neck, the Knight standing behind her enfolding her in his arms. She covered a wounded hand with her own.

"Martha," he croaked in joy tinged with sorrow, "I'll save you." She knew now that he was her burden to carry, as she was his.

"You have," she rasped, "We will never be parted again."

"Come," said the Lead Cenobite with grim satisfaction, "I have such sights to show you."

They followed him back into the depths of the labyrinth. Content in their suffering, now they would always journey together.

For eternity.

THE END


End file.
